


Neither Reason nor Rhyme (The Meet the Family Remix)

by avocadomoon



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, F/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-10 17:58:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20532209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avocadomoon/pseuds/avocadomoon
Summary: Killian's full name was, of course, His Royal Highness Charles Eochaid Lachlan Killian of the House of Breathnach, Duke of Holywell Forest, Son of the Ash Mountains, Prince of the Realm and Keeper of Her Majesty's Keys, but that was quite a mouthful to get through when you were trying to introduce yourself to a pretty girl at a card table.





	Neither Reason nor Rhyme (The Meet the Family Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liesmyth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmyth/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Neither Reason Nor Rhyme](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3957640) by [liesmyth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmyth/pseuds/liesmyth). 

Killian was named for his mother's favorite uncle, a rich artist who spent most of his life painting terrible pictures of boats (practically unrecognizable, unless you knew what you were supposed to be looking at) and giving away his fortune to socially undesirable charities. The most infamous story involved a visit to a brothel, in which Uncle Killian was so moved by the plight of the young women there that he personally bought them all a house. As in a separate house, for each separate girl. Killian's mother the Queen _loved_ to tell this story at royal balls. 

"They gave me this wretched thing to wear," she would say, readjusting her crown in her boudoir mirror, fastidiously looping her tiny braids around the rubies and emeralds that lined the rim, "the least they can do is indulge me in conversation."

"I don't think that's why Governor Falstaff disapproves of your stories, Mother," Killian would reply, playing along as always. It was what made him the favorite - his willingness to go along with Mother's jokes. Liam was much too serious to indulge her so. 

"Really? Because I thought he was just in love with me," the Queen said. "You know, can't stand to be near me, but can't stand to leave either, et cetera."

Governor Falstaff was a man of eighty-five at least, with a terrible smoker's cough and a gigantic pet falcon he insisted on taking everywhere. The nobles called him 'The Canarypox' behind his back, a reference to a particularly unpleasant fever carried by birds of prey, eradicated years before but still infamous for its symptoms of hallucinations and intense diarrhea. "If you wish to marry again, Mother, you need only to ask. Liam and I would be happy to find you a deeply unpleasant noble you can yell at for the rest of your life."

"Oh, darling, you're too kind," the Queen said, smirking at her own reflection. "It pleases me so to see that I have raised such generous, empathetic sons."

"Which one of us is the generous one?" Killian asked. "And which is empathetic?"

The Queen laughed. "Kings cannot be generous," she said. "And your brother is much too serious to be empathetic, so I'm afraid both of those fall to you, my dear one."

"Drat," Killian said, making a face to hide how pleased he was. It was one thing to be his mother's favorite, but another completely to be caught _enjoying_ it. 

Killian's full name was, of course, His Royal Highness Charles Eochaid Lachlan Killian of the House of Breathnach, Duke of Holywell Forest, Son of the Ash Mountains, Prince of the Realm and Keeper of Her Majesty's Keys, but that was quite a mouthful to get through when you were trying to introduce yourself to a pretty girl at a card table. The Queen gave him permission to choose any name he wanted to go by, including something he made up altogether, but Killian stuck with what he was called at home - in the privacy of their rooms, the name they called him when they were just being his mother and his brother, instead of the Queen Mother and her heir, the Honorable and Mighty King Liam III. Anything else would've felt dishonest, somehow. 

(He did use a fake surname, though. He wasn't _stupid_.) 

The Eastern Lands were not like other kingdoms; to be honest it was more of a network of politically-aligned familial clans than it was an actual nation state, but the House of Breathnach managed the Navy, and held the borders against the Ogres during the Great War, and as such were awarded the dubious honor of royalty. Killian doubted any of the families could be bothered to deal with the politics of negotiating with the Enchanted Forest - the whole messy, stuck up lot of them - for land rights for their orchards, so all in all it was a rather thankless job, aside from the palace they lived in, which was, admittedly, quite nice. His mother was exceptionally talented at negotiation; being a third daughter and never expected to take the throne, she was given the luxury of living in the real world for most of her childhood - traveling through the mountains with her uncles, learning trades and hobbies and whatever else she wanted to learn about, as free as any other normal citizen. 

But tragedy struck, and after her brother and both of her sisters were killed by the plague that swept through the lowlands in her early 20s, his mother the Queen reluctantly accepted the crown, promptly got herself pregnant by the layabout Admiral of the Royal Navy (Killian and Liam's terribly stupid father, who just as quickly got himself killed while trying to smuggle gold to his mistress in the Heliatrope Islands) and settled in for a long, annoying life as the Eastern Queen. It was a relief to them all when Liam became old enough to finally take the throne - neither of them could remember a time when their mother wasn't terribly stressed or on the verge of some sort of nervous breakdown. Talented she was, but - peace and happiness, unfortunately, always seemed beyond her reach. 

"It's that blasted curse," Liam said, blaming everything - as was the family tradition - on the Dark One's infamous curse, which condemned each firstborn son of the House of Breathnach to death at the age of twelve (which was, as the rumor went, the age of the Dark One's son when he was slain by their ancestor, Calum Breathnach, four generations before, in a blood feud that nobody could remember the details of). Their mother had - for better or worse - avoided this through a different sort of tragedy - her firstborn, a boy who remained unnamed, was delivered stillborn. But the curse remained a hovering shadow over their future nonetheless. The Queen coped by blaming it for everything that ever went wrong - from a burned piece of beef at dinner, to a nasty storm that decimated their yearly harvests. The habit had caught on quickly with her sons. 

"Curse or no curse," Killian always said, "if we could convince her stupid cousin to take the bloody throne, it'd solve a lot of our problems."

"_Cledwyn?_ He's an idiot," Liam exclaimed, scandalized. "Also a drunk."

"A perfect ruler!" Killian replied. "Ineffective and selfish. He'll fit right in with Queen Regina and that ponce from Agrabah."

"You speak treason, brother," Liam said lazily. "What am I to do then? I've spent my whole life preparing to be King. What do you expect me to do with the rest of my life - open a pub?"

"Oh, that'd be nice," Killian said, picturing it. "A dingy little tavern, up in the mountains someplace. You can do the cooking, and I'll run the bar. Mother would be thrilled."

"You two _would_ be," Liam said stiffly. He always did take it all too seriously - a good quality in a King, to be sure. Killian and the Queen were both very relieved that he liked the whole thing so much - both for Liam's sake (it's not so bad to be condemned to rule when you enjoy it so much, after all) and for, of course, their own. 

It wasn't something Killian ever spent too much time thinking about - the curse, that is. He wasn't ever going to have children - he'd decided that when he was very young, on the morning they received the news that their father had been assassinated while in bed with another woman. Their mother had taken the news blithely - their marriage hadn't been one of love or passion - but the scandal affected Liam and Killian deeply. What was love, anyway? They used to talk about it, debate it as if it were an essay question put forth by their philosophy tutors: _can_ one person love another? Is there such a thing as selfless love, or is it just vanity and ego and loneliness, dressed up in the trappings of fairy tales? Was there any point to trying, when you lived a life of politics as they did? How could they ever trust anyone other than each other?

A rather cynical conversation topic for two young princes, but they lived a rather cynical life. Liam went one way, and Killian another: one son naturally inclined towards responsibility and strength, the other for adventure. Liam studied civics and language, government, economics and business - he was sitting in on their mother's meetings by the time he was ten, drafting edicts and contracts by the age of fifteen. He saw the toll leadership took on the Queen and decided that he wanted to relieve her of it. On his sixteenth birthday, he made an appeal to the regional governors to be allowed to take the throne early, which of course failed, but was a rather touching gesture to the Queen, who was moved to tears. 

Killian, on the other hand, took a different path. His late father's first mate, a grouchy veteran of the Ogre Wars, took him out on his campaigns with him, taught him how to fight and how to gamble and how to charm people right out of their suspicion (and often right out of their wallets, too). Killian had the freedom his mother had had - because he was the favorite, yes, but mostly because Liam didn't want it. He grew a beard as soon as he was able, introduced himself as Killian Jones, gambler and tradesman, and most people took him at his word. He apprenticed himself to anyone who would take him - he learned how to be a blacksmith, how to trade, how to repair ships and cook for a crowd of hundreds on a budget of practically nothing. He sneaked letters home to the palace in the pockets of pretty noble girls, who agreed to deliver them in exchange for a kiss. He made friends with criminals and pirates and bartenders, who kept him appraised of the Dark One's movements, of Queen Regina's military forces (forever creeping towards their borders, waiting for a good excuse), of assassination plots and whatever else might threaten his family's safety. He learned how to stop a bar fight before it even happened, which was very similar to stopping wars, albeit on a smaller scale. The trick was to keep your eyes open. You had to notice the man whose hand was twitching towards his dagger before anyone else did, and you had to be quick enough on your feet to come up with something that would distract him long enough for the tension to break. This was Killian's strength: not a ruler, exactly. But an ally and soldier of his family's crown, despite everything. 

In a perfect world, Killian's mother would be living the same sort of life: drifting through the mountains, helping her brother's causes from the sidelines, falling in love with the open sky over and over again. But in that perfect world, Killian and Liam wouldn't have existed, so he reckoned there was a good and bad side to everything. In her retirement, his mother the Queen had relaxed significantly - taken up archery as a hobby (scaring the pants off the royal guards on a regular basis), bought herself a nice little seaside cottage. She only had to wear her crown for formal occasions, which Liam did his best to help her avoid, and she'd even taken a lover - a rather scandalously young noble named Deavon, who always became dreadfully shy whenever Killian was in the room. (His mother said he was intimidated, which Killian found incredibly amusing, and made him wonder how she could manage to fall in love with someone so timid, but - then again, she seemed much happier, and none of them wanted to jinx it.)

This sort of life would've suited them all fine - even the governors seemed pleased by the arrangement - if Liam hadn't gone off the deep end and fallen in love himself, with the girl who brought him his coffee every morning, the eldest daughter of a poor family from the capital. Her name was Iola, she was the sweetest person in the entire world, and they all loved her to death. And the nobles all hated her, which made it even better. 

They were married one year into Liam's rule, and Iola was visibly pregnant at the time, a scandal that kept all the rich families gossiping for months afterward. This was awfully convenient since it kept them busy and out of the way (the nobility were quite useful for funding things and not much else; the real political power lay in the mountain families, who controlled the mines and the orchards and didn't give much of a shite who the royals married - but in practice, at court, of course they all had to pretend otherwise). Life was blissfully happy for a time - Killian went on a temporary retirement while his sister-in-law got used to her new position as their new, working class queen, and they all determinedly ignored the issue of the curse, even as they blamed it for all their stubbed toes and stained tunics. When Killian's nephew was born, however - that was when it all changed. 

Iola was a kind and genuine woman, not prone to anger and gallows humor as the rest of her new family was - but when her child was born a boy, she got right up out of bed, her hair still damp with sweat, and threw a large wooden bookend at the great mirror that hung in the receiving room of her apartments. Then she grabbed Killian and told him to help her write a royal decree - she'd been illiterate before coming to work at the palace, and of course she was learning, but it was slow going - that nobody outside their immediate family would be allowed to look upon her son for the first thirteen years of his life. 

"Not a single soul," Iola swore. "My son will live. I swear on my own life - he will _live._"

Killian gulped, and nodded, and wrote down every word she said, faithfully and without a single edit. The Queen signed it, and so did Liam - neither of them daring to speak a contrary word either - and the happiness that they'd enjoyed for such a short time became strangled; the joy and anticipation they'd felt all but gone completely, surrendered to a breathless dread that seemed much more real than it ever had before. 

It was one thing to grow up with such a curse when it didn't mean anything; even the sadness their mother clearly felt over her stillborn son had seemed inconsequential. They hadn't been happy, the three of them - but it was a contentment, a familiarity, an easy partnership between mother and sons. A perfect unit which functioned beautifully - the curse had been just something to talk about, quite honestly. It was altogether different, however, when it became a _threat_ \- something that hovered in the air of Killian's nephew's nursery. When he held little Emrys - heir to his kingdom, with his mother's eyes and his brother's chin, the most precious thing he had ever held in his arms - Killian felt his heart break for the very first time. He could only imagine, and watch with sympathy, the fear and grief and anger that Liam and Iola must have felt - being told by the mystics that they would have a daughter, and being greeted instead by a doomed son. He almost couldn't bear to watch it. 

He could see the next decade of their lives as clear as day: their precious son, locked away in a tower, kept hidden away from a dangerous world. Liam would grow paranoid in his fear, and Iola would become bitter. Their mother would retreat to her cottage, exhausted by her own helplessness, and their former closeness would evaporate into nothing. And Killian himself would leave - and keep leaving, staying away longer and longer each time, unable to stand living in a home that was no longer warm. Like this, their family would dissolve - Emrys would never be able to live any kind of life, and even if they did manage to keep him alive past his twelfth birthday he would hate them for it forever. And for what purpose? The Dark One's anger over something that happened decades ago? A sin committed by an ancestor whose body had long rotted away into the earth?

Fuck that. Killian was a prince - the son of a cruel drunk and a lazy queen. He'd taught himself how to win his battles, just as his brother had figured out on his own how to rule. They were better than this. They could _do_ better than this. 

"What do you need?" his mother the Queen asked, the night before he left. "Money? Gold? Horses? I have it all. Take it. Take anything that will help, my son."

"I need only my wits," Killian reassured her, "which I inherited from you, Mother. So you see - you have already given us all that we need to survive."

Well into her middle age, his mother's face still looked youthful and smooth, although that wouldn't last long with the weight of their current situation. Killian had never seen her cry until the day that Emrys was born - not even when his father died. She had very little patience for grief - so beleaguered by everything else - it was a shock to see her familiar eyes fill with tears. If you'd asked him before, Killian would've said his mother was too smart to weep. "You flatter me."

"It's true."

"Maybe from your point of view," his mother said. She reached out and touched Killian's face, blinking sadly at him in the orange light of the evening sun. "From mine, I have only burdened you both. Laid such weight on both your shoulders - and why? Because I was selfish. Because I was scared, and because I wanted to be your friend more than I wanted to be your parent."

Killian found that he could not speak, thinking of his childhood - his beautifully annoyed mother, stomping from meeting to meeting, complaining to her sons in language more suited for adults than for children. It had made them feel grown up and important to be in her confidence. How could he explain it? A burden? Yes, it was, but not an unwelcome one. Killian took her hand in his own and squeezed it, hoping that said enough. 

"Whatever you need," the Queen swore, squeezing his hand back, "to save Emrys from this - I will help you however I can. But promise me, dear one," she continued - she had not called him that in years, "promise me you won't sacrifice yourself to do it. One life for another is no trade. You are no weak noble, nor are you some spoiled hero prince, descending from his castle to fight a sick dragon. You are the son of farmers and pirates, not kings and queens. Our family has always fought for everything it has gained, and we have survived because we _fight to win._ You have all that you need to succeed completely, Killian. Swear it to me."

"I will," Killian said, "if you swear that you will spare Liam the knowledge of what I'm doing."

"He will be so angry when it's over," the Queen said. 

"So let him. If he knew, he'd try to come with me. And where I mean to go is no place for a king."

His mother smiled in approval. "He won't hear it from me, Killian."

"Thank you."

"I make no promises about Iola, however," she continued. "Our new Queen is a fierce interrogator. I'm helpless against her, you know."

"Liam chose well," Killian agreed. 

"I bet she's amazing in bed," the Queen said. 

"_Mother_. My God."

"Well, you were thinking it too," she said. 

"You know," said Emma, approximately one year and two life-threatening injuries later, "they're going to hate me."

"That's not even remotely true," Killian reassured her. The Dark One's dagger - still red with the creature's blood - lay in a jeweled box beneath both of their feet, rattling loudly as the couch driver did his best to hit every bloody hole in the road to the capital. 

Emma fidgeted a little, casting a nervous glance out of the window. Killian hadn't known her very long, all things considered - there were mysteries to her that he couldn't wait to figure out, an entire lifetime of secrets and adventures and tragedies she'd lived through. Being in her company was like wandering through a maze - every conversation turned a new corner, a new discovery, a new dusty little room in her heart that hadn't seen the light in years. Killian couldn't get enough of it - opening all her closed doors, one by one by one. "I'm _not_ wearing a dress. _Ever._"

"Alright," Killian replied, amused. Emma seemed to have a very strange idea of what his family was like, based largely on her experiences with the royal family in Misthaven, who were a bunch of fascist maniacs. He couldn't blame her for being wary; if _his_ only experience with queens had been Regina and Cora, who had spent half their reigns trying to murder each other, he'd probably be a little suspicious too. But it was still very funny. "That's fine. The tiara is non-negotiable, though."

The look of abject horror that passed across her face was too much to take, and Killian laughed. Her expression quickly turned to annoyance. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"And you're adorable," Killian replied. "Have you ever actually _been_ to the Eastern Lands, Emma?"

"No," Emma admitted reluctantly, "but I've heard plenty of stories about your mother, so…"

"Oh, do tell, love."

"Well, let's see, there was the time she punched Queen Elsa in the stomach," Emma said, "for insulting her husband."

"She stepped on her foot while they were dancing, actually," Killian said. "It was still quite the scandal, since they were negotiating a treaty - everyone was very on edge. Elsa's a lovely sport, though. Quite good at cards, too."

Emma blinked, nonplussed. "What about when she had your dad's mistress arrested and his illegitimate children banished?"

"Well, that part's true," Killian admitted. He grinned sheepishly. "She _was_ blackmailing us at the time, though."

"You're not helping me at all here," Emma accused. 

"Oh, is that what you want me to do? Reassure you?"

"You could at least try! And I'm fucking serious about the dress thing."

"Emma," Killian said, reaching out and taking her hand, which trembled in his grip, "as much as I would like to see you in a gown - something low cut and red, perhaps with some lace - "

Emma kicked his shin sharply, smiling sweetly when he winced. 

" - well, we can talk about that later - I promise you, on my honor and all my titles, that my family is not going to give a single shite about your bloody manners, or whatever it is you're worried about," he finished. "They might try to give you a tiara, that's true, but you're more than welcome to melt it down for the silver. We have plenty of spares to go around."

"It's not my manners that I'm worried about so much as the active arrest warrants in six or seven different counties," Emma said flatly. "It's not exactly...the smartest idea I've ever had to elope with a foreign royal when there are two other heads of state that actively want to execute me."

"You should mention that at dinner," Killian said eagerly. "Liam will want to hear the story about how you helped that pregnant noble escape from one of Regina's prisons."

"Would you take me seriously for a minute or two?" Emma asked wearily. "I'm trying to communicate with you openly here. Snow and David told me that was the key to a happy marriage, you know."

"Darling," Killian said fondly, "I _always_ take you seriously."

Emma didn't seem to know what to do with a statement like that. It was very endearing, how she always reacted to his gestures of genuine emotion with a mixture of fondness and faint disgust, as he was a pet dog offering her the carcass of a dead bird he'd dug up in the forest. 

Incredible, really. Just months ago he was still swearing to himself he'd never fall in love. Perhaps he'd just been waiting for a kindred spirit - who had made the same vow to herself, Killian now knew - to plop herself down at his table and flash her tits at him. Fate was a funny friend. 

"Besides, it's Deavon I'm worried about," Killian said. "He's quite traditional, you know."

"Your mother's man friend?" Emma smirked. "Isn't he younger than you are?"

"You've heard _some_ of the gossip, then, I see," Killian said, wincing. 

"Courtesy of Ruby," Emma said. "She was on her best behavior around you, since you were a prince and a client and all that. Just wait until they find out we're married - she's going to let her hair down then. So to speak."

"I can hardly wait."

"She might try to seduce you," Emma said. "It's a habit of hers. Fair warning."

"She can try," Killian said, pulling her closer. His wrist was still tender, but he was getting rather used to it - still wrapped up in the sling, it barely even hurt unless he accidentally jostled it. Emma was still conspicuously gentle, though, in how she pressed herself against his chest, the reach of her arms deliberate and her gaze sharp and watchful. Killian loved her just a tiny bit more. "Unless you'd be interested in some sort of group situation, that is. I'd be willing to hear you out."

"No," Emma said firmly, but her eyes were sparkling with humor. "No sharing. That's rule number one."

Killian kissed her chin, humming his agreement. 

"Rule number two, no dresses," she continued, still laughing with only her eyes. "And rule number three? No more limbs get hacked off. That was the only one you get to lose, buddy."

"I'm certainly not going to protest that one," Killian said, laughing a little himself. The nausea he felt whenever he thought about it was lessening, bit by bit, mostly due to whatever light magic had occurred when they'd kissed at the castle - the warm wind that had swept over them as they stood over the Dark One's body. Ever since that moment, Killian's pain had been almost non-existent - and the sick feelings he'd endured - looking down and expecting his hand to be there, the phantom itching, the nightmares - had all but disappeared. He had his suspicions, but he was willing to keep them quiet for now. "Any more I should know about?"

"Yes," Emma said, her expression suddenly quite serious, "if your family hates me, you have to let me leave you."

"Oh, fuck off," Killian said, and kissed her again. She mumbled something in protest, muffled against his lips, but she didn't pull away either, which he counted as a win. "You're so melodramatic."

"I don't want to be the reason you fight with them," Emma protested. "You clearly love them desperately, Killian. Every time you talk about them - I can _feel_ how much you love them. It just pours out of you. If I had people I loved like that - I - "

Killian waited for her to finish, but she seemed stuck into whatever thought was making her face twist up like that, biting her lip savagely, clutching the collar of his jacket so tightly it pulled against his neck. The coach still rattled violently beneath them, but Killian barely felt it. 

"You have David and Snow," he finally reminded her, as gently as he dared. "Ruby as well. You would die for any of them - you said as much to me yourself, when we first met."

"It's different," Emma insisted. "I love them, sure, but it's - it's different. We're thieves, Killian. We would sell each other down the river if it would get us a good payday." That had the air of a sentence that she had repeated often to herself - not a truth, exactly, but perhaps a mantra of some sort. Killian wondered for the countless time what had happened to her to make her believe so little of her capacity to be loved. 

"I don't think you really believe that," Killian finally said, "but if that's what you'd like to go with - fine. Do you have so little faith in me, that I wouldn't fight for you against something so petty?"

"That's not what I'm saying."

"So little faith in my family, then - that they don't love me enough to accept the person I chose to marry?"

"Was it a choice?" Emma asked, playful again. Almost desperately so, her hands twitchy and nervous against his throat. "Or did I just get you drunk and marry you for your gold?"

"I don't have any gold," Killian confessed. "Just a big house and a bunch of ugly jewelry. The money's all public funds, love. Can't go around throwing it at pretty thieves who like having their hair pulled."

"Damn," Emma said, and kissed him again. The blunt end of his arm, where his hand once sat, throbbed a little as she pressed against the wrist - but Killian didn't mind. A bit of pain went a long way when you were in love, he'd learned. "I guess we're really stuck with each other, then."

"I guess we are." Killian eased her back a little, for the sake of his arm, and Emma's face instantly went apologetic, her mouth creasing into a worried frown. Killian kissed it again, before she could start going on about his analgesics again. "Stop worrying so much. They're just people, Emma."

"People you respect and love," Emma countered. "People you almost died to help."

"That hardly means anything. I would've killed that old crocodile for a fiver, if someone had offered."

She finally broke, shaking her head in a laugh. Her smile was wry when she met his eyes again. "I've never met anyone like you."

"Same here," Killian said. He glanced down at their bloodstained trophy, which Emma was sure would be impressive enough to his brother to win her his approval. "Say, love - do you think that rumor about this dagger is true, that it captures the soul of the last Dark One who was killed with it?"

Emma shrugged. "You're the one who told me about the dagger in the first place - I have no idea. Why?"

"I was just thinking it would be rather weird if he was trapped in there watching while I went down on you," Killian said. 

Emma's eyes grew wide in her face, but she went easily enough when he pushed her back against the seat. "Killian, we're in a coach. Our driver is barely eighteen - oh _shi_ \- "

"Sorry, did you want me to stop?" Killian asked, his surviving hand already halfway to its destination. "Slow down? We could talk some more about your debilitating insecurities instead, if you wanted - "

Emma kicked him. Then she moaned so loud the driver _had_ to have heard. Killian muffled his laughter against her knee. "Shut up. I hate you. Wait, wait! Keep going!"

"I love you too, darling," Killian said, still laughing. Fate - a funny friend indeed. 

Iola was the first to greet them, running out into the courtyard as their coach approached. Emma had been quiet for some time, staring blankly at the scenery for hours - enraptured by the blue and grey mountains that rose up out of nowhere as they descended into the green of the valley. Killian had nudged her in concern, but she'd turned to him and said, "everything is so _colorful_," in a voice so full of awe that his heart almost burst. 

She was jittery now, however, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, gnawing her bottom lip raw. Nothing he'd said had seemed to alleviate her anxiety, so Killian had resigned himself to letting her figure it out herself. At the sight of his sister-in-law, running towards them in one of her court dresses, her hair loose beneath her crown, Emma went so stiff she seemed to be suddenly made of stone. Killian just squeezed her thigh and sighed. 

"Killian! Oh, Killian!" Iola's maid was running a few feet behind her, clearly struggling to keep up. He laughed as Iola jumped up onto the small stairs, too impatient to give him time to come out, and threw her arms around his neck through the small window. "Oh, look at you. Look at you!"

"Oi, I'd rather not. It's been a few long weeks of traveling, and I'm sure I'm not up to your standards," Killian said. Iola released him, her cheeks wet, and gripped the edge of the window, peering around him to beam at Emma, who still sat frozen in place, her eyes wide. "Iola, this is Emma Swan. Emma, this is my sister. Iola."

"Hi," Emma squeaked. She hadn't moved from her seat at all. 

"Hello," Iola said warmly, her highlands accent thicker than usual. She was still crying a little, her face just as kind and open as he remembered it. It occurred to Killian that it'd been over a year since he'd seen her - or Emrys. He might even be walking and talking by now - children grew so quickly. "Welcome. Thank you. Thank you so much." Her face shone as she reached up to grip Killian's shoulder, still hanging off the edge of their coach, her nice dress getting smudged with road dust. "Killian. Your mother told me. I don't - what do I even say? What does one say?"

"Nothing," Killian said, shaking his head. "I didn't do it for you, my dear. As lovely as you are."

"I know. That's why I don't know what to say." Iola shook her head, wiping the tears from one cheek. She left a small streak of dust behind beneath her eye, and her lady in waiting made a small sound of distress, panting a few feet away, holding a large cloak in her hands. "We weren't the same without you. Oh! I'm so glad you're home. Kiss me again, brother - I've missed you."

Killian kissed one of her cheeks, and then the other - right on the dirt smudge. Iola laughed, squeezing his shoulder so tightly he could feel her rings even through his coat. "You're causing quite the commotion, my Queen - kissing another man in the courtyard for all to see."

"Hah! They know you're not my type," Iola said, winking at Emma through the window. Killian couldn't turn to look at her, clutched against the frame of the window as he was by Iola's hand, but the smile on his sister's face didn't waver. "Killian, I have to tell you something. Brace yourself."

"Alright, I'm braced."

"I think something's happened to your hand," Iola said, whispering loudly with her eyes wide. Killian burst into laughter. "No, don't look! We'll get the court physician here straightaway - did you leave it at a tavern or something? You'll forget your own head next, you stupid man."

"Iola, don't tell anyone this, but I missed you the most," Killian said. 

"Oh, I'm certainly going to tell that to everybody," Iola said. "Look at me! I haven't even let you out of your coach. Miss Swan, I apologize, I'm not nearly this affectionate but it's been a very strange day. Come on, let's get you inside - I've had your rooms aired out for you, and we'll have food ready whenever you want it. You must be so tired!"

Released finally, Killian turned back to Emma, who to his surprise looked far more comfortable than she had a few minutes before. She was even smiling, just a little. "You didn't have to go to any trouble," she said, much more politely than she'd spoken to Killian, when she'd first found out he was a prince. "It's nice to meet you. Killian's told me a lot about you."

"Really?" Iola smiled at Killian fondly, reaching across him to take Emma's outstretched hand. "That's lovely. You're so lovely - I knew you would be. Could I call you Emma?"

"Of course, Your Highness," Emma said. Killian blinked, taken aback at the formality. 

Iola just scoffed. "Iola is my name," she said. "I've only been a Queen for two years, and I'm still not used to it. _Are_ you hungry? Or would you rather sleep for awhile?"

Emma just shrugged, smiling still, as if she were about to laugh. Iola had that effect on many people. "I'm not that tired."

"Neither am I," Killian said. "Where's my nephew?"

"Inside." Iola beamed at him. "I'll collect him and meet you at your rooms, yeah? Look at you." She rubbed Killian's chin, his beard much shorter than it'd been in years. It was just scruff now, really - how Emma preferred it. "I'm so glad you're back. Emma, you've made him shave! Goddess bless you."

"He looked like a prison guard when I first met him," Emma said, reaching out to carefully lay a hand against Killian's sling. She squeezed his bicep through the leather, reassuring him. "It was absolutely horrible."

"You seemed to enjoy it well enough that first night," Killian said, unable to help himself. Emma's cheeks flushed, and she shot him a dirty look. 

Iola just laughed. "Lovely," she said again. Her maid called out to her, and she jerked her head a little. "Yes, yes, alright - Killian, we'll talk more later. Yes? We sent a falcon to your mother as soon as we spotted your coach, she'll be on her way now - yes _alright!"_ She rolled her eyes at them in farewell, and then hopped down. Killian sat back from the window, turning fully back to his wife, Iola's voice still drifting up to them on the wind: " - not that dirty, for pity's sake Agnes, I'm a grown woman! No - I don't want a blasted towel - "

Emma was laughing a little, still holding his arm. But they both jumped as the coach began to move once more, pulling further into the courtyard, nearer to the doors of the stronghold, and Killian could see a bit of her nervousness return to her. "She's just like you described her."

"She loves everybody she meets," Killian agreed, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "But you, especially, she will love. Just wait."

"Hm," was all Emma said. Killian took the hint, and didn't push. He was getting better about that sort of thing. 

The nature of a royal residence was that none of their rooms were truly private; the apartments Killian had held the last time he'd been here had clearly been reappropriated several times, by many different occupants, in his absence. Still, Iola had made a real effort - his books were stacked neatly on the shelves beneath the window, the bureaus were filled with clothes his size. There were clothes for Emma, too - no dresses whatsoever, he noted to her smugly - and his former mattress had been replaced by a larger marriage bed - with a light green canopy that Emma immediately wrapped about her shoulders, cocking a playful eyebrow at him. 

"So they know we're married then," she said. 

"I told them as much in my last letter."

"Are they going to do that thing where they post a priest in the room to verify that the marriage has been consummated?" Emma asked, still wickedly playful, excited as she was by the bed. Much larger than any other they'd slept in before, that's for sure. "You know, to make sure we're doing our duty for God and country or whatever?"

"Good Lord Emma, I do wonder where your ideas of royalty come from sometimes," Killian said. "Besides - I'm an extra son, remember? Liam's children are the heirs - you and I are quite safe."

"Small blessings," Emma said. She released the canopy, letting it fall naturally, obscuring her face from his view. It draped over her lap, seated as she was on the bed, and Killian knelt on the ground before her, leaning heavily against her knees. Her arms reached out and started undoing the knot in his sling, and Killian sighed in relief as she slid it off, the ache in his shoulder sharp after such long hours of wearing it. "Do you need another - "

"No," Killian interrupted. She was still half covered by the canopy, and he reached up with his hand and tugged it aside. She smiled at him when her face was revealed. "You're not tired are you, love?"

"After such a long day of sitting, and more sitting, and then - oh, there was that bit in the middle with the orgasms - yeah, I'm exhausted."

"Perhaps you should take a nap then, before my sister joins us," Killian said, pulling at the buttons on her tunic. "Take these dirty clothes off - they're making you even more tired, I reckon."

"Yeah, stupid clothes," Emma said, wiggling her hips so he could pull down the leggings she always wore - men's trousers altered to fit her smaller frame. There were special pockets in the legs for her daggers, concealed behind the fur of the boots she normally wore - although in the warmer climate of Killian's homeland, she'd have to find a different solution. "You should take yours off too. They impede healing, you know - shirts."

"I hate shirts," Killian said emphatically, grinning as she pushed his coat off his shoulders and then went to work on his tunic. "We should just stop wearing them."

"Oh yeah, that'll get me in good with your brother. Walking around naked," Emma said, the tip of her tongue poking through her teeth as she carefully pulled his bandaged arm through the armhole of his shirt. 

"You never know. He might be impressed by your, ah, boldness," Killian said. Emma didn't wear the sorts of undergarments he was used to dealing with, in his previous adventures with the fairer sex - all lace or silk, complicated straps and such. No, his new wife was practical above all else: a length of linen, wrapped around her ribcage, to flatten her chest and keep her warm on cold nights spent kneeling outside of rich people's windows, or scaling the walls of tall mansions. He'd even seen her tie her hair up and pass as a man that way - charming her way into locked rooms and guarded saloons, roughening her accent until she fit right in with any crowd. 

When she wanted to look like a woman, though - she wore nothing at all. The night they'd met, her hair had been loose, her smile lazy and confident. A corset had held her blouse together, and her trousers were only barely buttoned - held together by a red sash that Killian later stole, winding it around his wrist as a good luck charm. That terribly awkward meeting, the next morning - Emma's pride stung, embarrassed and uncomfortable, her friends suspicious and wary, like panting guard dogs at her back - he'd worn it on his wrist, waving it around in her face any chance he got. She hadn't even flinched - not until the very end of the conversation, when they'd been talking prices. He'd been attempting to lowball her, just to see how she'd react, and she'd reached out and tugged on it - pulling the knot tighter around his wrist. She told him to 'do better,' and then stole his drink. 

Killian still preferred her wrap. She seemed more comfortable in that, for one, and also it was exciting every single time - undoing it in bed, as if she were a present to be unwrapped. Emma had to help him more often now - he was still struggling with some of the simplest things, which seemed much trickier with one hand now instead of two - but that little sigh of relief, when the last length of it fell away, and the happy little smile she graced him with - he wouldn't give that up for anything. 

"God, this bed," Emma said, her eyes fluttering closed in pleasure as she finally leaned back against the pillows, her clothes pushed down against their feet. "Did you grow up sleeping in beds like this? It's incredible."

Killian nudged her over gently, pulling the sheets up over them both. The finest the palace had to offer, no doubt - it felt like heaven against his skin. "Yes. I was very lucky."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes you did," Killian said fondly. She rolled over beneath the sheet, tucking her body into the side of his, her hair loose and shockingly blonde against the dark, rust-colored pillow. The canopy made it seem as if they were in another universe - alone on a soft island, floating in a mossy abyss. "And what kind of beds did you sleep in, Emma Swan?"

She was quiet for a moment, as she always was when preparing to tell him the truth. "Wherever I could find them," she finally said. "And I did whatever I had to do to get them."

Killian ran his palm over the spread of her hair, fanned out against the pillow. "In a good, just world - you would've been the one growing up in a palace like this."

"Do you say that because you think I deserved better, or you deserved worse?" Emma asked, cutting to the heart of the point as always.

"Perhaps both."

"I see." Emma reached up and traced the line of his nose with one finger, concentrating fiercely, as if committing the length of it to memory. "You really meant it when you said I had nothing to worry about, didn't you?"

"I have always meant all the things I've said to you."

"Yes, but you _meant it,_" Emma said. She let her hand fall to his shoulder. "What was your mother's name again?"

Killian swallowed. "Catrin. But I reckon nobody's called her that in years. Not since my father died." He'd called her 'Cat,' which she had seemed to hate. But Killian's memories of his father were colored by anger and bitterness - he couldn't be sure that was true.

"Not even Iola?"

"She addresses her by her title - she was a servant when they first met, remember," Killian said. 

"Queen Catrin of the House of Breathnach," Emma said wonderingly, "my...mother-in-law."

Killian grinned. "Her Royal Highness, By the Divinity of the Goddess - "

" - Defender of the Realm," Emma interrupted, furrowing her brow as she tried to remember, "Her Holy Grace - "

"It's 'Her Terrible Grace,' actually," Killian said. "They basically stole the spiel from Arendelle and switched up the adjectives about a hundred and fifty years ago, quite blatantly - "

" - Her Terrible Grace, Queen of the Land and All that Surrounds," Emma finished. "Did I get it all?"

"Yes," Killian said, kissing her nose. "Only she's the Queen Mother, now. So that whole thing is Liam's, and they changed up an awful lot of it after he married a commoner. Out of pure spite, really."

"Fuck," Emma said, blowing out a slow breath, looking up at the ceiling in dismay. "This really is a whole different universe from the real world, isn't it?"

"You get used to it," Killian said with a shrug.

The servants woke them, when they came in to close the curtains at dusk. Emma jolted awake, one hand reaching for a dagger that wasn't there, and Killian sleepily pulled her back down into the sheets, wincing as she collapsed a little too hard against his side and jostled his injured arm. 

"Sorry! Oh, I'm sorry - "

"Sh, it's nothing," Killian said through gritted teeth, but their peace was gone, and so was their nap. It was all for the best, however, because outside of the bedroom was Iola and Emrys, patiently waiting for their arrival - Emma stopped short in the doorway, her eyes wide and her hair tangled about her face, clearly surprised by their presence, but Killian rushed forward, unable to resist. Emrys was so _big_ \- and he looked just like Liam. 

"We did fall asleep," Killian said to Iola, falling to his knees in front of the baby, who was sitting on his mother's lap with one fist in his mouth. He looked calmly back at Killian, blinking slowly, and then took his fist out of his mouth and smiled. Killian almost dropped dead on the spot. "We didn't mean to make you wait."

"Nonsense. Look, fy machgen, it's your aunt and uncle," Iola said gently, smiling up at Emma in invitation. She approached hesitantly, still clutching her robe around her neck nervously, but Killian reached up and tugged her down, laughing at her grunt as her knees hit the rug next to his. "Emrys, can you say hello? Say hello."

Emrys did not, in fact, say hello, but he did wave his fist in the air at them, kicking his legs against Iola's knees. Killian reached out and touched the babe's foot, wiggling it gently, and he hiccupped, and lurched back until his head hit Iola's arm. She laughed, and Emma laughed along with her, quiet and shy next to him, and Killian turned to her in his awe; his _nephew,_ who'd been only a few days old when he'd left. Here he was: with a milk-stained tunic, and big brown eyes. A real, live, little human. 

Emma grinned up at him, as if she knew what he was thinking. "He's beautiful," she said, not breaking eye contact, although the words were clearly for Iola. 

"Thank you," Iola said, pulling the baby up a little further on her lap, so he could lean fully against her torso. "He hasn't started talking yet, though we can tell it's coming. Killian, we've told him about you every day since you left. We didn't want him to forget who you were."

"I'd only just met the lad," Killian said, although his voice broke. To his horror, he found himself on the verge of tears. "He didn't know me before."

"You know what I mean," Iola gently chided. She cupped the side of the baby's head in one palm, gently pressing against his rounded cheek. In the firelight she looked like a different person than the one Killian had known before: a vision of a saint, or a goddess, posing for an oil painter in the glowing light. "Your brother barely slept for a month after you left. Of course we knew straightaway what you were going to do. Your mother tried to keep the secret but you know how she is when Liam wants something from her."

Killian shook his head, his vision blurring just a bit. Emma's hand was suddenly there, braced against his shoulder - strong and solid pressure to lean against. 

"He's still in Arendelle," Iola said apologetically, "he'll be furious when he gets back and finds out that you arrived while he was gone. Of course we could send a messenger, but he's due to leave in a few days anyway - it wouldn't bring him home any faster."

"A short trip then?" Killian asked. "Princess Anna's betrothal?"

"He didn't really want to leave Emrys, but it was the polite thing," Iola said. 

"I heard Anna's head over heels," Emma said. "Some farmer from the ice fields."

"Marrying commoners is all the rage these days," Killian teased. Emma rolled her eyes, making an exaggerated face at the baby, who waved his arms and laughed. 

"Would you like to hold him?" Iola asked, directing the question at both of them, and Killian found that he suddenly could not speak. 

"Yes," Emma answered for him, and held her arms out. Iola smiled at them both warmly, and leaned down, carefully placing the boy in Emma's arms. To Killian's surprise, she held the baby expertly - as if she'd held a hundred children before. One of her hands cupped the back of his head, patting his back softly as he fussed a little, clearly disconcerted by the sudden change of location, and she smiled at Killian encouragingly, turning him around in her arms so he could see Emrys' face. "Aren't you handsome? Just like your uncle and your dad, I bet. Killian, he looks like you."

"Do you think?" Killian said hoarsely. The sight of Emma holding a baby would be too much to fathom on even a normal day, but holding _this_ baby was perhaps enough to undo him completely. "My love, you are full of surprises."

"I'm not completely without hidden talents," Emma said, her voice soft so as not to disturb Emrys. "Besides, I used to take care of the young children all the time at the orphanage."

"You were an orphan?" Iola asked, not in the surprised or scandalized tone that most people asked that - instead, she sounded rather pleased. "So was the Queen, you know."

"Killian's mother?" 

"Her parents and all her siblings died in a plague when she was very young," Killian explained. He reached out and touched the boy's hand, and Emrys instantly gripped his fingers, leaning his head against the inside of Emma's arm. "Before she was married, or had Liam and I."

"She never wanted the throne," Iola confided. "She's much happier now, in retirement. Oh Killian, did you get my last letter? You couldn't have - it must just now be arriving to your friend's estate in Misthaven."

"The last one I read was from the winter, when Liam was sick."

"Then you don't know! Deavon has left her," Iola said. "Or rather - she left him. It's all very mysterious. We called upon her one day and all his things were gone, and a few weeks later the gossip in the village was that he'd gotten a young girl from the O'Brien family in trouble. Can you imagine?" Iola shook her head in disapproval. "It took me weeks to convince Liam not to have him arrested for something. But when you talk to her about it, it's as if nothing happened at all - like she wasn't even affected!"

"That sounds like my mother," Killian said. 

"Unlucky in love?" Emma asked wryly. 

"More like unphased by it," Killian replied. "Has she taken up with someone else, then?"

"Oh yes of course," Iola said, her face brightly smug. "I'll let you discover who it is on your own, though. I wouldn't deny you the pleasure of surprise."

"Ah, dwt, your mam is a cruel woman," Killian said, leaning in to tickle Emrys' cheek. The baby wiggled a little, kicking his feet again, this time against Emma's arms. "He likes you, doesn't he? Emma, darling, you've made a friend."

"He's clearly a man of discerning tastes," Emma said, snuggling him close. She looked up at Iola, her face wide open with sincerity. "You know how we met, don't you? Killian's been writing to you."

"Aye," Iola said. She reached down and touched Emma's shoulder. "I still don't know what to say, other than that you'll always be welcome here, no matter what befalls you both. You'll be welcome in my home _always,_ Emma Swan."

Emma's face went shy again. It scraped Killian's heart to see it - never before had he imagined she was capable of such timidness. "I just meant - I was meaning only to say that I didn't do it for the money. He probably told you everything - who I am, what I did for a living - and I didn't want you to think that I didn't care about what could've happened to your son."

Iola laughed abruptly. "He married you, didn't he? Emma, we really must talk privately, you and I. I can't wait to tell you how many times Killian swore up and down he would never take a wife, and now here he is, with his heart in his eyes every time he looks at you." Emma snapped her mouth shut, startled. 

"Don't scare her off yet, we've only been here a day," Killian said. He nudged Emma's knee. "She doesn't mean that. You know I only married you for your gold."

"I don't have any gold," Emma snapped back, smiling at them both tearfully. "Just a big house, and a bunch of stolen rum. Say, Iola, do you drink?"

"I'm a proper Eastern woman," Iola said, "raised in a house of God. Of _course_ I drink."

"I think we'll get along fine then," Emma said. 

Emma's nervousness seemed to abate significantly, in the company of Iola - although she still got twitchy around the servants, shooting Killian strange looks whenever they popped up to bring them something they hadn't asked for. Killian didn't know how to explain that keeping a staff like this was something that was expected of them without coming off arrogant, and explaining that they paid their people much better than other royal families would seem defensive, so he just shrugged and smiled at her, and tried to be extra polite to the girls that woke them up in the morning for breakfast. 

The Queen's arrival seemed to put Emma even more at ease, which didn't surprise him that much - it was Liam she was worried about, he knew. And of course he always suspected they would get along. 

"I must say, I am impressed by you, my dear," said the Queen one morning, "I had thought for most of Killian's childhood that no woman would have him. Your courage and fortitude are extremely impressive."

"Oi," Killian said. Neither of them even looked at him. 

"Thank you, Your Highness, that means a lot to me," Emma said grandly. 

"I told you, Emma, please call me 'Mother.'"

Emma wrinkled her nose. "Do I have to?"

The Queen sighed. "Well, you and Iola can work on it together, I suppose. Killian, tell me again how you two met. The story you told in your letters was far too polite to be true, and I suspect Emma would try and make you sound more respectable than you are."

"He was very respectable actually," Emma protested.

"No I wasn't," Killian said. "I was a charmless lout, Mother, don't believe her."

"Are you kidding? You were so polite the whole time I wanted to hit you!" Emma's face shone with humor. "Sitting there in your fancy doublet, with that top shelf bottle - calling me 'Miss Swan' like we were at a garden party or something - "

"Shameless lies," Killian said, shaking his head. He leaned over the coffee and gripped his mother's elbow insistently. "Trust me - I whacked her over the head and carried her up to my room, just like you taught me. Not a single ounce of respect or tact, I promise."

"Good," the Queen said, grinning at Emma, who was snorting with laughter into her coffee cup. "It was such a struggle, you know, to beat the manners out of my children, but I did the best I could. Liam especially was a pill - always saying 'please' and 'thank you' at the dinner table, offering his arm to the ladies - such a stubborn boy. But Killian has always been a bit more agreeable."

"Or disagreeable?" Emma asked. 

"Exactly." The Queen squeezed Killian's hand, and then released it with a satisfied sigh. "We'll have to make you a Duchess, I suppose."

Emma squeaked, and fumbled with her coffee cup. 

"Ah, Mother - "

"Don't worry, I'll find you a dingy little territory with nothing good in it," the Queen said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Unless you'd like something nicer? We could split up the Holywell if you'd like - that's Killian's dukedom. Just trees and flowers, really - no people. If you wanted someplace nice to build a little cabin in...or there's the seaside districts. A few of them are sitting empty." She tilted her head at them both. "You can have some time to think about it if you'd like - no rush."

"I - I don't think I'm really Duchess material," Emma stammered. 

"Oh please," scoffed the Queen, "who is? It's a made up word for a meaningless position, my dear. But they need something long and impressive sounding to read when they announce you at the stupid balls."

Emma looked over at Killian, her eyes wide in her face, and he quickly stepped in. "Mother, Emma grew up in Misthaven," he said hastily, "she's an enemy of Queen Regina - you can imagine that she's a bit, ah, suspicious of some of these things - "

"That two-faced witch!" the Queen exclaimed, slamming down her teacup. "Isn't she dead yet?"

"Not yet," Emma said darkly. 

"We should be so lucky," the Queen replied. "Well, I do like you even more now. Tell me, why does she hate you? Did you do something nasty to her?"

Emma's grin was slow and mischievous. "Several things," she agreed. 

"Lovely," said the Queen. 

"I like her," she said later, walking arm-in-arm with Killian along the balcony that edged the courtyard. Below them, Emma was practicing with the guard again, trouncing the best of their men without even breaking a sweat. Killian himself was itchy to join in - but his arm was still too vulnerable. A few more months yet, he promised himself. 

"I knew you would."

His mother's gait slowed slightly, and they lingered along the balustrade to watch Emma's duel. Her form was a bit sloppy, but it was hard to find complaint when she still won nine times out of ten. "She was a thief?"

"A good one."

She shook her head. "She doesn't want to be a princess."

"No." Killian struggled for words, for a moment. "But I never wanted to be a prince."

The Queen laid her palm against his face, her brown eyes terribly sad. "I know."

"I wish things had been different for us," Killian confessed. "I wish my father had treated you more kindly, and that your brother hadn't died. Perhaps we could've grown up in the mountains, and our lives would be happier for it." He paused. "But I can't regret where we are now. Liam was born for this. And so was Emrys."

"Yes," the Queen agreed, letting her palm fall. "We mustn't complain, though. We're so very lucky, despite everything." She touched his sling lightly, carefully squeezing his bicep through the leather. "Does it hurt very much?"

"Not anymore."

"And your Emma." His mother's eyes were quite serious - much moreso than he'd ever seen them before, aside from their last conversation before he'd left for Misthaven. "I can trust her to look out for you? To care for you, defend you when we are not there to do it?"

Killian took a deep breath. "Yes."

"Alright then." The Queen smiled sadly at his arm. "You'd look rather dashing with a hook, I think."

"I was thinking the same thing - something terribly ostentatious."

"Perhaps we could melt down that blasted dagger and make one for you," the Queen said, looping her arm through his again to resume their pace. "Unless you think that would be too tacky?"

"No such thing in this family," Killian said. 

"So the Holywell is yours, and the Heliatropes are Liam's," Emma said. 

"Yes. For formality's sake, anyway."

"The Highlands is everything north of the river, but the lowlands include some sections of the mountains, to the East where the boundaries are fuzzier," she continued. Killian nodded encouragingly. "And for some reason, Misthaven owns the plains in the West, which means you and Regina have been at odds ever since she took the throne."

"King George was many things, but his contracts were ironclad," Killian said. "Regina's tried many times to increase the taxes, but she can't enforce them without military effort, and she's been too busy terrorizing her own country to bother."

"Yet," Emma said. 

"Right. Now that the Dark One is gone…"

"She has easy access through the Yellow Valley," Emma said. Her eyebrows were pinched. "David and Snow warned us about that. That's why they took the baby into the Enchanted Forest - they knew it would get more dangerous."

"Misthaven has been dangerous since the day Regina seized the throne, love, but it was only recently that she has grown so bold," Killian said, touching her cheek. "Geographically, we are nearly untouchable. Surrounded by ocean and mountains...our only vulnerability is the plains, which only means that we know exactly where the attack is coming from. So if she's got any cunning at all, she'll send assassins, not troops."

"Which is where you always came in," Emma said shrewdly, narrowing her eyes. "That's why you knew so many pirates - why you spent so much time at the card tables. You were a _spy._"

"Of a sort," Killian said. He grinned. "Don't tell me you thought I was wearing that ridiculous get up because I _wanted_ to."

She gasped. "You did it on purpose! You _wanted_ me to come talk to you, that first night!"

"Of course I did," Killian said with a laugh, "I wanted to get your attention. But I have to say, I wasn't expecting you to slide right into my lap like a tavern girl - "

"Hey," Emma said, laughing a little, "you weren't exactly complaining, mister."

"No," Killian said, leaning in close. Emma leaned in too, brushing their noses together, as she often did in the mornings, lying in bed together as the sun rose. "I could never."

Emma's eyes fell closed. "I thought this was going to be so different."

"My family? My life?"

"I thought you wanted to whisk me away to a tower somewhere, stuff me into big dresses and civilize me," Emma confessed. "Do you remember the first time you proposed? You were so casual about it. As if it meant nothing to you."

"That's not true," Killian said, stung, "I only wanted - you were so skittish, I thought I would scare you off."

"I'm just saying," Emma said, reaching out to soothe him, sliding her hands down his shoulders, "I haven't met that many people in my life who really _saw_ me. Understood me. That's all. I didn't see you coming."

Killian thought of her friend Graham, who had died with a dagger in his hand, his feet planted firmly between the Dark One's golden grin and Emma's unconscious body. Killian had been just one foot too far away to stop it - just inches, that made the difference - he would remember that moment for the rest of his life. 

And proud, suspicious David, with his ill-fitting coats, and the accent just a bit too refined to truly pass for a peasant - stubborn Snow, wielding her sword with her newborn strapped to her chest. Ruby and her wicked smile, reaching over to Emma's leg to poach one of her daggers in the middle of a fight. A small, hardened group of friends, with brave hearts and fierce tempers, and Emma _still_ thought they didn't love her as much as she loved them. Killian knew she was wrong, but he also knew that it would take more than just saying it once or twice to get her to believe it. 

"Emma," he said, brushing her hair away from her face, "how could I claim to love you, and then trap you in a life you don't want? What kind of man would that make me?"

Her face broke open into a smile. "I know. That's why I said 'yes.'"

"So stop worrying so much," Killian said, laughing. "They'll make you a Duchess and give you a crown, throw us a few parties and then send us back out into the wild once more." He pulled her close with his arm, and Emma slid right into his lap like she'd done the night they'd met - tossing her hair over his shoulder, grinning like she already knew all his secrets. "You'd make quite a good spy, love. It's fairly close to what you were doing before."

"And you'd make an excellent thief," Emma replied, "but I already knew that."

"Nothing says we can't do a little thieving along the way. There are plenty of people who deserve it in that messy little Enchanted Forest of yours."

"I love it when you get all uppity," Emma said. "It makes me feel like I'm corrupting a nobleman."

"I _am_ a nobleman," Killian said. "Technically speaking. And you can corrupt me as much as you like."

"It's not as fun if you give me permission," she complained. 

"Please, darling, we'll have plenty of time to roleplay when we're not sleeping in my brother's palace."

"Point taken," Emma said. 

Killian had warned Emma several times that Liam was probably going to cry, but he could tell she didn't believe him - "he's a _king,_" she'd said incredulously, as if there was something inherently contradictory about being the leader of an entire nation and having emotions. He really did wonder about what growing up in Misthaven did to people - perhaps it was even worse than he'd thought. 

So he had tried to warn her, and as such didn't feel guilty at all for laughing at the look on her face, since it was just as funny as he'd expected. Iola was laughing too, so he could always use that to defend himself later. "Oh, come here," Liam said, and threw open his arms. Emma's mouth dropped open and she flashed a look of panic back at him before being engulfed in his brother's hug, yelping a little at the sudden attack. Next to him, his mother was cackling, with Emrys perched on her hip, chewing messily on a small wooden toy dog.

Liam, tears streaming openly down his face, caught his eye over Emma's shoulder. 'She's gorgeous,' he mouthed, and Killian grinned at him smugly. 

"Nice to meet you?" Emma said, a bit squeakily, and stumbled a little when Liam released her. She hastily readjusted her tunic, which was indecently low, pulled askew by Liam's enthusiasm. 

"Yes," Liam agreed, wiping his face unashamedly. He took Emma's hand and shook it, and then sniffled again and reached out for Emrys, who went easily into his father's arms. "Yes, it's absolutely wonderful to meet you. Welcome to the Eastern Lands, Emma Swan. You're our new favorite person!"

"Um," Emma said, her eyes still wide and surprised. 

"Brother!" Liam exclaimed, and then it was Killian's turn. Emrys seemed content to be squashed between them as they hugged, babbling in his endearing baby talk as they hugged. Liam was crying again, but smiling as well, and Killian patted his back and laughed, rocking back and forth until his brother's shoulders stopped shaking. "Damn it all, I missed you. Where the hell is your beard?!"

"My wife shaved it in my sleep," Killian said. 

"Emma! You're a miracle," Liam said, pulling away to beam at Emma, who still looked faintly shellshocked, flanked by Iola and their mother. "Killian, tell me you didn't blackmail her into accepting your hand."

"Only in the beginning, but I think she's here upon her own will now."

"Oh!" Iola exclaimed suddenly, darting forward to relieve them of the baby. "That reminds me - Emma, we must throw you a wedding reception. No bride should miss out on the terrible tradition of the wedding gifts from the nobles."

"Wedding gifts?" Emma repeated faintly. "I don't really need gifts."

"They're horrible!" Liam exclaimed. "Darling, was it the Driscolls or the O'Hallorans that gave us the giant statue of the ugly pregnant cat?"

"The Driscolls," Iola said. 

"Pregnant cat?" Emma asked.

"It was meant to be a sphinx," Killian exclaimed, moving to her side and sliding his palm across the small of her back. Her shoulders visibly relaxed at his touch. "But there's only a few sculptors that are talented enough to make anything worthwhile, and they're all Highlanders - "

"Who wouldn't dare to lower themselves to take a commission from the nobility," the Queen explained. 

"We all had to pretend we knew what it was, it was very funny," Iola said. "Her Highness received an exquisitely terrifying portrait of herself on her own wedding day."

"I hung it in my bedroom," the Queen said proudly, taking Emma's arm. "It makes me look like a banshee."

"She uses it to scare off respectable suitors," Liam said, beaming down at Emrys, who was hanging off his mother's shoulder contentedly. "Speaking of, Mother, did you tell - "

"For God's sake, Liam, yes, I told him to leave the tiger at home," the Queen said irritably. 

"Wait," Emma said in a low murmur, leaning in so only Killian would hear, "she's really dating a circus performer? I thought that was a joke."

"Unfortunately not," Killian replied. "Iola informs me that he's at least equal to her in age, which is a refreshing change."

"Oh my God," Emma said, biting her lip against a laugh. 

"Good!" Liam boomed, clapping his hands together. He looked much happier than Killian had seen him in quite a long time, although the way he kept looking tearfully down at Emrys, then over at Killian and Emma, betrayed the real reason behind his cheerfulness. "It'll be a respectable dinner then, so long as we can manage to keep this monkey contained." He tickled Emrys' chin, who wiggled in delight, babbling loudly and waving his toy at the gathering. "Emma - can I call you Emma? - you must take my wife's seat at dinner, just for tonight. They've all had so much time with you, I feel rather cheated. I have a whole list of questions."

"Oh," Emma said, looking a little twitchy again, "that's, um, nice of you to offer."

"Not if you're going to poison her mind with terrible lies about me," Killian interrupted. 

"Would I do that?" Liam asked, scandalized. He tilted his head for a moment in thought. "Well - yes, I would. But not tonight - I'm in much too thankful of a mood." He grinned, the smile almost splitting his face, it was so wide. "The Dark One is dead, and my son is safe. It is a happy day."

"Indeed," Iola said cheerfully.

Emma cleared her throat. Gathered as they were, casually around the great doors that led to the stables, her curtsy looked rather out of place, but Liam's expression sobered, and Killian found himself deeply grateful that none of them laughed. When she bared her face again, in fact, all three of them looked serious and solemn. 

"Your Highness," Emma said, in a tone that betrayed how much she'd practiced it, "we wanted to present you with the dagger of the Dark One, which we used to slay him. We have no other evidence of his demise, other than my honor, which I hope is enough to convince you of our victory." She looked over at Killian, a little uncertainly, who found himself breathless all of a sudden at the very sight of her: in a terribly mismatched outfit, more suited for a pageboy than the wife of a prince, her hair loosely pulled back by a leather strap she'd pilfered from one of his shirts. She was bold - confident in everything she did, even when she was nervous - determinedly stubborn, holding herself to principles that Killian didn't always understand. Absurdly formal in some things, and carelessly casual in others - Killian loved her so much he couldn't believe it. It was like being struck by lightning every day, over and over again. 

"Emma Swan," Liam replied, "my brother's wife, and now my sister. Thank you for your bravery and your sacrifice." He reached out and lay his hand on her shoulder, in lieu of touching her with his scepter, as he would if this were a formal reception. "You are a daughter of the Mountains now, just as we are. You will always be welcome here, and I hope with all my heart that you will come to love it as we do."

"Thank you." Emma's bottom lip trembled, just a little. Killian hoped no one else saw it - Emma wouldn't want them to notice. 

"For your service to my family - and to our kingdom - I can offer you anything you want. Any reward, any amount. Land, gold, titles - any of it." Liam said this all quickly, as if he knew that Emma would be annoyed by it. "But I have a feeling you wouldn't accept that sort of payment. Am I wrong?"

She shook her head wordlessly. 

"Then we must be content with dinner." He grinned again. "Many dinners, I hope. Every time you visit my palace, we will cook feasts big enough to scandalize the nobles - with all your favorites." He turned to Killian. "Does she like rum as much as you do, brother?"

"More," Killian said. 

"Good, because I brought way too much back from Arendelle," Liam said. "My poor horses." 

"You'll _have_ to take my seat then," Iola told Emma, "if only to keep your rotten husband from drinking it all."

"I think you might be underestimating me," Emma said, lifting her chin. "Killian might have a slight advantage over me because of his stature, but I assure you - he _means_ it when he says I can drink him under the table."

Laughter rang through the hall, all the way up to the rafters. Killian took a step closer to his wife, and thought, _this is what we were waiting for. This is the missing piece._

"Challenge accepted." Liam smiled. "Say, bring that dagger with you. We'll use it to cut the cheesecake or something."

"That's rather morbid," the Queen chastised. "We should just toss it in the sewer. That's where it belongs."

"No, we'll mount it in one of the bathrooms," Iola said. "The one we give to guests, so he'll have to watch the nobles shit for the rest of eternity."

Emma burst into laughter at that, covering her mouth quickly when it came out louder than she'd expected. Killian grinned at both of them and said, "Iola, that's genius."

"Our wise and benevolent Queen," Liam said, pulling both her and the baby close. "We are truly blessed."

"I'm starting to see that, yeah," Emma said. 

"Can we take the bed with us?" Emma asked, her head on the wrong end and her feet propped up against the headboard, wrinkling the canopy with her toes. 

"Rather conspicuous, don't you think?"

"So is getting the nice rooms in all the inns." She pouted. "It's back to bare hay for us now."

"Oh come on. I've spent almost a decade cultivating a reputation as a rich dilettante with perverted tastes and deep pockets," Killian said. "We don't need to resort to extremes."

"So you think we should stay with all your rich, gross old-man contacts then?" She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not sure I want to sleep in some of those beds, thank you very much."

"Think about it for a moment, love," Killian said, gingerly joining her on the bed, mindful of the linens. His new hook prosthetic was far too shiny and new-looking; he'd have to bang it up quite a bit before he could take it out in public. "What seems easier to you: scaling walls, or being invited in as a rich guest? Think of how many safes and coffers there are out there, just waiting for your dedicated attention."

Emma's mouth quirked up into a smile. "You make a good point, Prince Charles."

Killian startled. "It still feels strange to hear you call me that."

"It's your name, isn't it?" Emma leaned her head back on the pillows, far enough for an upside down kiss. "I think I've talked your mother down from 'Princess Philomena,' but it was a struggle there for awhile."

"Your regnant name should be as beautiful as you are," Killian agreed, nudging her nose with his own. "And perhaps just as wicked."

"She wants it to be Eastern, though, and all your traditional names here are stuffy."

Killian kissed her forehead softly. "Rhianon," he said. "It means 'witch.'"

Emma laughed, shoving him lightly with one arm. 

"Alright, alright." He settled in to think about it. "Our grandmother had a female companion in the last twenty years of her life. They couldn't marry, of course, but everyone knew that was what it was. When she died she was buried in the royal mausoleum with the rest of our family." Killian smiled. "Her name was Siwan."

"No," Emma said, "you're lying. Seriously?"

"Deathly so." Killian smiled down at her. "Do you like it?"

Emma kissed him, in lieu of answering out loud. When she pulled back, her eyes sparkled. "Do you know where that name comes from? Did I ever tell you?"

"No."

"I made it up," Emma said. She pushed back with her feet against the headboard, sliding her body down the bed, into the circle of Killian's arms. Splayed out in opposite directions as they were, her head ended up somewhere near his shoulder, and Killian laughed, bending down to kiss the chain of her necklace, which was lying across the bare patch of her breast where her tunic had fallen down. "I'd just been kicked out of the orphanage - I was maybe sixteen, and they had too many children to feed - and I had no idea where to go or what to do with myself. So I just wandered around for awhile, because I didn't know what else to do, and I ended up at this park. One of the royal ones, that King George had built for his daughter." She paused to swallow, but she didn't seem distressed, despite the sad nature of her story. If anything, she sounded as if she were on the verge of laughter. "There were two swans on the pond, and all of the rich nobles and tourists were walking over them on this bridge. I sat on the edge of the grass and watched for awhile - they were really very beautiful - and then this one lady came along in this great big blue dress, you know the kind with the big hoop in the skirt?"

"Old fashioned," Killian said, enraptured by the story. "With the bonnet and everything?"

"Oh yeah." Emma laughed. "She paused at the top of the bridge and watched the swans for a little bit too. But I guess she must have leaned over too far - and she had this giant hat on, with some feathers on it, which probably caught their attention too - and one of the swans got irritated, and lunged at her."

Killian laughed. 

"It was incredible," Emma continued, grinning at his amusement, "she screeched and dropped her purse into the water, and three different gentlemen came running to assist. Then the _other_ swan got spooked - one of them got too close to the shore - and came up out of the pond and starting running at one of the men, which made the lady start yelling again, and before you knew it the whole thing had turned into chaos - all sorts of shrieking and running, and in the middle of it were these poor swans, who had just been minding their own business, defending their property from those rich gawkers. It was the funniest thing I'd ever seen."

"Of course that's how you found your surname," Killian marveled, still laughing at the image. "Of course you would choose something like that."

"It just seemed like the universe was telling me something," Emma said with a grin. "Like fate had reached out and smacked me. Told me to get a clue."

"I know the feeling," Killian said honestly. 

Emma reached up and slid her fingers through his hair, her eyes soft with affection. "Princess Siwan," she said thoughtfully. "I think I like that, yes."

"You could have them call you 'Duchess' instead, if you preferred," Killian said. "We do have some leeway with the technicalities."

"But then we wouldn't match," Emma said in a low voice, curling inward so that her breasts were tantalizingly close to Killian's face. "I wouldn't want any of those eligible young ladies to get the wrong idea."

Killian bent down and kissed her necklace again - a long chain that she wore everywhere, the history of which she was clearly reluctant to tell. He could wait, though - he was a patient man. Pulling at the chain with his teeth, he could just barely feel her heartbeat against his cheek, the swell of her breasts against his chin. Her breath stuttered a little as he scraped his beard against the hollow of her throat - one of her instant hair triggers that Killian loved to exploit at every opportunity. 

"You're the only one who could ever match me," he said, his voice coming out hoarse with earnestness. "The only one in the entire world."

Emma's eyes were wet with tears that he knew wouldn't fall, when he lifted his head, but the fact that they were there at all - Killian knew it was a victory. "I got so lucky," she whispered, leaning in for a kiss. 

"Not lucky," Killian said, "smart. And brave - very, very brave."

"I'd have to be, to marry you," Emma said. 

He grinned. "See, I told you you'd fit right in," he said.


End file.
